


A little bit of murder, a little bit of glamour

by WilwyWaylan



Series: Montsous week [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Dorks in Love, First Meeting, Gen, I don't know, Montsous week, You Decide, modern or canon, warning : this fic contains FIRST NAMES
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-13 14:31:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17489771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilwyWaylan/pseuds/WilwyWaylan
Summary: Where Montparnasse chooses his victim very poorly





	1. First meeting

**Author's Note:**

> A small collection of drabbles / small fics written for Montsous week

The night had fallen on the town, bringing over walls and towers its black coat spotted with a myriad of speckles of light coming from behind the windows, where people were gathered, trying to fend off the darkness. Large scarves of fog wrapped around the roofs, soft as silk and light in gold before the glasses, thick like velvet under the arcades around the place. The moon tried to pierce through it, looking solid enough to be fully gripped, ripped off and stuffed in one pocket to light one's way.  
Montparnasse didn't need to steal rays of moonlight to light his way. The night was his kingdom, and the town was his playfield. He walked in the dark as easily as one would have strolled through the park in bright sunlight, blending in the shadows as he was one of them, emerging from one to better disappear in the next. His brown eyes could see as clear as day, and no stone would break his pace and make him stumble.

  
He walked down an alley leading to the town center. It was the perfect hour for prowlers like him. People were starting to go home from theaters and other distractions, their senses dulled by sleep and whatever they filled their evening with, be it a show, a pleasant company or just a ridiculous amount of food, and those who got out later weren't drunk enough yet to not feel fear when he would descend on them. Their senses would be just dulled enough by alcohol to surrender their valuables at the first glance at his knife, and not make a fuss. The kind of job Montparnasse preferred.  
He set his sights on a solitary gentleman. Sharply dressed, from what he could see through the stagnating fog. Long cloak reaching his legs, a nice top hat that seemed of the highest quality, and something shining in the dull light of the lampposts that could only be a large ring. Maybe made of gold. Very impressive, very stupid to wear this without any protection. And soon, very poor. Or maybe very dead. It would depend on how well the man would defend his belongings. Then again, few people were willing to die for a bit of money and a few pieces of jewelry. In this case, maybe some bit of clothing, too. His clothes seemed a bit too elegant for him, but would fit someone else just fine.

  
Montparnasse waited until the street was clear, then fit his steps to those of the man, taking care of walking at the same rhythm so as not to attract his attention. He lengthened his stride just a little, stepping closer and closer, until he was close enough to grab him, but not too much as not to let the lampposts throw his shadow forwards and betray him. And the man hadn't noticed anything yet. Perfect.

  
They reached the spot Montparnasse knew well, a small alleyway where all lights had been broken. Perfect. When the man passed it, he struck. His steps almost silent, he walked to the man, grabbed him around the neck and dragged him in the dark to pin him against the wall. A well-rehearsed gesture that always went without a hitch and led to a dizzied, flustered victim with a knife against their neck, at Montparnasse's beck and call.

  
Except that it didn't go without a hitch. As soon as he touched the man, his arm was grabbed, and he was pulled and spun around. His back hit the wall hard enough to leave him breathless. The man was holding him by the collar of his jacket, creasing the fabric between his fingers, to Montparnasse's utter horror.

  
\- Look what we have here, the man drawled. A street rat in a silk coat.

  
Montparnasse wanted to retort something clever, but he was at a loss of words, and the hand was also crushing his windpipe, making it harder to talk with the little air surprise was allowing him to draw. He had been overcome by his prey, this never happened to him before.

  
From up close, though, the man wasn't the dandy he looked like from afar. His clothes were less stylish than outfashioned, and only the darkness had hidden how worn they were. The ring was only steel, but that didn't stop it from digging into Montparnasse's throat. More strangely, the man was wearing a domino mask scattered with small black sequins. The feathers at the top were mingling with the hair escaping from the hat, in a mosaic of black and white that made it hard to guess anything of his features. But it was very easy to read into the pale eyes glaring at him through the eyeholes. The man was furious, and ready to squash him like a bug. Well, if he could, of course.

  
\- What is it, rat ? the man asked. Cat got your tongue ?

  
Montparnasse made a show of rolling his eyes at the awful pun, earning himself another push against the wall, and more pression on his throat. But the man's attention had focused entirely on his face. His hands were free. A press of a finger on the inside of his sleeve unlocked the blade hidden there. Montparnasse struck upwards, aiming for the space between the ribs. He was fast as a snake, but the man had already let go to jump backwards, out of reach.

  
They gauged each other for a moment, shoulders tense, ready to jump at the slightest hint of an attack. Now that he could take the time to observe him, Montparnasse could see that he had the attitude and the way of moving of a thief, just like himself. Or maybe an assassin ; the way his fingers were curled inwards indicated a hidden knife, just like the one Montparnasse was holding. And since he'd witness the man's reflexes, he knew that at the merest blink, that knife would end in his throat. Or worse, his face.

  
Suddenly, the man abandonned his threatening posture with a small laugh.

  
\- Well, you seem like a feisty one.

  
\- "feisty one" ? Montparnasse repeated, without moving. That's all you can find ?

  
\- I can call you an annoying little rat, but that wouldn't go well, I think.

  
\- I would kill you. In fact, I'm going to kill you. But that would just make me more determinate.

  
The man didn't seem too impressed by his boasting.

  
\- That would be a shame, really.

  
\- A shame ? Why ?

  
\- First, I don't have anything. In fact, I was looking for some easy money too when you... invited me here.

  
\- And second ?

  
\- Second, I can certainly kill you first.

  
Montparnasse wanted nothing more than make him swallow his words. But he had seen the man move.

  
\- Fucking awesome, he muttered. I decide to take on someone, and it's another thief. Really fucking awesome.

  
\- Better than a thief, kid. (Montparnasse bristled at the word) I'm an assassin.

  
\- And you're telling me ?

  
\- You're not very likely to go and snitch on me, would you ?

  
Montparnasse shrugged. The man was right, but he wasn't ready to admit it.

  
\- So, what do we do ? he asked instead.

  
\- From there, we have two options. Three if we fight to death, but I hope we won't get to it. Either we leave and each go our merry way...

  
He stopped, leaving Montparnasse to prompt :

  
\- Or ?

  
\- Or, what do you say we join forces and find a bigger fish to catch ?  
Montparnasse had to ponder the offer for a second. Two thieves would mean a nicer prey, of course, and it would mean help if something went bad. If the man wanted to help him, of course, and not just throw him as bait to better run away with the money. Everything in him was telling him not to trust the man. An assassin couldn't be trusted, he knew this very well. Sooner or later, he would end with a knife stuck in his back, or sold to the police for a handful of cash. The police in the best of cases, of course. There were numerous people who would pay good money to get their hands on him. The man would just have to drag him to the nearest hole in the wall to sell him. No, that was a bad idea. A very bad idea. The worst idea ever.

  
And still... there was something that pushed him to accept. Something that yearned for a bit of company, good or bad, just... someone to have there. Someone who he could share something with, even if it was just a bed, a bit of bread and a hint of warmth. It didn't have to be forever, it didn't even have to last, but for once, it would be nice not to be alone. Consequences be damned.  
The man was still looking at him, waiting for his answer. Against everything that was telling him to run, Montparnasse nodded.

  
\- We can try. But know that I have my eye on you.

  
\- I consider myself duly warned, the man answered with a straight face. What's your name, partner ?

  
\- Montparnasse, he answered, trying not to let the "partner" go to his head.

  
\- And I'm Claquesous. Let's start hunting, would you ?

  
The man - Claquesous - slid his arm under Montparnasse's. He tensed, waiting for an attack, but it didn't come. Claquesous just dragged him along, humming a jaunty little tone under his breath. Montparnasse followed, still wary. But maybe this association wouldn't turn out to be a disaster. Maybe... maybe it would work out, and he wouldn't be alone anymore.


	2. Blood red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claquesous has a little present for Monty.

\- Close your eyes and you'll get a surprise.

The hands setting over Montparnasse's eyes made him jump from his spot on the couch, sending his phone flying on the cushions, and only recognizing the voice prevented him from sinking the knife that never left him into his attacker's neck.

\- You'd better be careful, he growled instead. Next time you could be hurt.

\- No worries, Claquesous answered. You know I'm faster than you.

Montparnasse didn't snort, he merely expressed his disdain with a raspy sound.

\- As if.

\- Let's go back to business. Eyes closed, or no surprise.

\- And what kind of surprise could you have in store ?

\- Well if I tell you, it's not a surprise, right ?

The chuckle ran through Montparnasse across the back of the couch, and the hands moved a little closer to his eyes, as to push them closed. He had to obey, to protect them, and because he was genuinely curious. It wasn't everyday that someone brought him a surprise. It happened, but it was usually the wrong kind of surprises. Judging by Claquesous' sing-song voice, though, that wasn't the kind that ended in blood, tears and someone's death. Okay, maybe it would, but not theirs. He hoped.

\- So ? he asked, a hint of impatience in his voice. My eyes are closed. What is it ?

One of Claquesous' hands moved from over his eyes, and he was tempted to peek, but he refrained. The hand came back before his face, he could feel it, but didn't touch him again, instead hovering in front of him.

\- You can look now.

He obeyed. In front of his face was dangling a tiny, silver knife, with a drop of blood at the tip. Wait no. He squinted a little. It wasn't a drop, but a small, red stone cut to mimic one. When he didn't move to grab the object, it was deposited in his hand. He rolled it between his fingers. It was an earring, he realized. The depression at its middle was the small rod going through the ear, and it could be separated into two pieces.

He put it back together, stared at it for a moment, then glanced up at Claquesous who was looking at him expectantly. He tried to speak, but something large had suddenly taken residence in his throat, effectively crushing his words. Claquesous seemed to understand what he tried to communicate, because he answered :

\- I saw it in a shop, and I thought you might like it.

\- So... you stole this just for me ?

Claquesous made an embarassed sound, suddenly fascinated with a spot on his glove. Under the rim of his mask was a hint of... pink Was he... Blushing ? That was weird. Claquesous sometimes had little attentions, more often than not in the form of take-out, but it never made him blush. And now...

\- What is it ? Montparnasse pressed. Tell me. Come on.

What came out of Claquesous' mouth was something like "din'tsteal". It took Montparnasse one full second to decipher it.

\- What ? he repeated, louder. You didn't...?

Claquesous shook his head.

\- Does this mean you...?

A nod, this time. Montparnasse looked at the small knife in his hand. It was just a trinket, something normal people probably bought by the dozen. But they were not normal people, and the gesture was far from normal too.

Montparnasse opened the small knife, and delicately put it through his ear. The knife's tip dipped a little, weighted by the stone. It probably looked very nice, and Montparnasse would so take a selfie later.

But first, he edged closer to Claquesous, who hadn't looked up, lopped his arms around his neck, and leaned his cheek against the smooth silk of his jacket.

\- Thank you, Gabriel. I appreciate the gesture. It's beautiful.

Claquesous' breath had the tiniest hitch, then the man's arms came to rest around his waist.

\- You're welcome, Alistair. I love you.

\- I love you too.


	3. Faces

Claquesous liked masks. Everyone knew that ; that was the first ever thing you learned when you spent more than five seconds with him. Claquesous liked masks, Claquesous loved masks, Claquesous had a whole collection of masks. If you were lucky enough to get into the minuscule flat they shared, you couldn't help but notice the masks. They were lined up on the dresser in the bedroom and the large chest in the living-room, hung on places on the walls, propped up on well-made displays that made a jarring contrast with the run-down furniture.

It had been kind of unnerving spending time under those lifeless, sunken eyes watching every move whe they first moved in. Montparnasse had been tempted to protest when the masks came out of the bags to settle everywhere, but he knew how important it was for Claquesous to have them, and he had kept silent. And after a moment, the uneasy feeling had receeded. They were just masks, pieces of wood, leather and fabric made to look like faces. Nothing alive here, nothing dangerous.

Montparnasse crossed the living room towards the bedroom, stroking a few masks as he walked. They were familiar, now, comforting in a strange way, even. Like some little pieces of Claquesous surrounding him. He didn't feel alone when he was on his own there. Sometimes, he liked to think Claquesous was watching him through the masks. The thought, once creepy, was not strangely enjoyable.

Claquesous didn't lift his head when Montparnasse came in, instead directing all his attention to the small mirror in his hands. Montparnasse sat beside him on the bed, their arms touching. Still, no reaction. The situation wasn't anything out of the ordinary, and Montparnasse wasn't affronted by his lack of reaction. He knew how to recognize a bad day, he had enough of his own. And he knew what to do now, even if it had taken him a long time to learn it.

As gently as he could, he grabbed the mirror and pulled it out of Claquesous' grasp. He had to insist a bit to get it out of the tense fingers. Claquesous' eyes finally rose to meet his. Montparnasse gave him his softest smile. Without a word, he lifted his hands slowly, leaving Claquesous all the time he needed to retreat if he wanted. But he didn't move.

The mask he had chosen for today was a white oval made of fine china, molded into a delicate, androgynous face. Little black dots had been set on it, to form delicate features, and a single silver one was shining at the corner of one eye. Montparnasse grabbed the edges, feeling the warmth even through his gloves, and undid the clasps holding it. Very slowly, he pulled it down.

Claquesous' face was even paler than usual, the skin barely colored. The strands of hair falling on the forehead were black and thin like lines of ink traced with a brush. A hint of lilac around the eyes indicated how tired he was. The grey eyes were still bright, but were they shining because of Montparnasse, or because of unshed tears ? Montparnasse lowered the mask a little more, unveiling the rest of the face. High cheekbones, and a fine nose that gave the impression Claquesous got those fine features from a high-ranked family. A beautiful mouth with a bow a little too sad for Montparnasse's tastes.

And the scar. From the corner of the left eye, crossing the bridge of the nose, to the other cheek, a deep gash that never closed properly. The skin around had been burned, maybe in an attempt to heal it, or to damage him even more, Montparnasse didn't know. He'd always known Claquesous with it, and the scar had grown with him, the small, stretched marks alongside it a proof of how long it had been.

Slowly, Montparnasse ran a thumb across the old wound, watching the skin dip a little under the pressure. Claquesous shuddered, and made a noise that could have been annoyed. Or maybe not. But he didn't move. Montparnasse picked a small container, untwisted the lid with his free hand, and took a little bit of ointment. Gently, he started applying it on the scar, his fingers still light as a feather. He could still feel Claquesous shiver under his fingers, but the small noise that he kept making was more of a purr.

When he was done, Montparnasse put his hands on Claquesous' shoulders and pulled him forwards to lean their foreheads together.

\- You're the most beautiful person in the world, Gabriel. Never forget it.

Claquesous finally smiled ; it was frail, and watery, and quivered like anything could made it disappear, but it existed, and it was beautiful enough to light the whole room, and made Montparnasse's heart flutter.

\- I thought that was you, Claquesous managed to say.

\- Let's call it a draw ?

\- I surrender.

And when Monparnasse kissed him, he could taste his smile on his lips mingling with his tears.


	4. Nyctophilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Montparnasse loves the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was is super short, sorry :(

The boys loved the night. It was their playground, their hideout, their cover and their hunting ground. It was their mother, protecting them from harm and sight, hiding them from their enemies and shielding them from being seen too much and talked about too often. It was their lover, embracing them in its long black robes, welcoming them with open arms. It was their accomplice, allowing them to hide under its coat and helping them hunting the careless ones who dared step on it, giving them the blood and silver they needed. It was their ally, their greatest asset and their most beloved partner.

But above all, Montparnase loved the night because if was only under its watchful eyes that Claquesous finally revealed himself. It was only in the blackest of nights, when the moon was hidden and the stars were gone, that he accepted, for a moment, to take the mask down and let night's breath to touch his skin. It was only then that he allowed himself to walk like any other man. For a moment, Montparnasse could hold his hand, walk at his side like every other person in that town, just enjoying the breeze and the myriads of little sounds that surrounded them, Claquesous' breathing free from its constraints and their steps side by side.

But as much as he loved the night, and those fleeting moments spent together, he knew that they were just that, fleeting shards of time that disappeared way too soon. At the mere sound of footsteps, at the tiniest light, the mask was back on, like a barrier between him and the world, leaving only his eyes for Montparnasse to see. And Montparnasse knew that it would be a long time before Claquesous would let him see his face again out of the confinment of their room, that they would be able to walk together and not think for a few moments about the blood that ever stained their fingers. Until the night, the lovely night, kind and cruel, would bring them together again, and under her heavy cloak, allow them those little moments once more.


	5. Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CLaquesous has another present for Monty

In and out, stick the needle backwards, pull it forwards, pull on the thread, be careful. And do it again. Claquesous' eyes followed its path, never once breaking contact, attentive of the small silver flash appearing and disappearing, following the rhythms of his stitches. His fingers were painful, from pushing the sharp eye of the needle and the countless times he stabbed them by accident. Good thing the fabric was black, or it would have been dotted with red along all the seams.

Finally, he could knot the thread and cut it. He then unfolded the black fabric, and checked it obsessively, looking for the slightest error, the smallest missed stitch. But no, it was... not perfect, of course, but as close as he could. And he had to admit, he could be proud of himself. He was not a great seamstress - scratch that, he wasn't a seamstress at all. The only thing he'd sewed were clothes that needed mending, and a flurry of pockets on the inside of his cloak. Nothing as ambitious as what he had been doing.

He'd been planning it for months. Finding a pattern hadn't been too difficult, they weren't really a rare commodity. Learning how to read and measure, a little more. Stealing some fabric had been another thing entirely. He couldn't just steal anything, or he would have ended with a monstruosity that Montparnasse would probably feeed to him. He needed something black. Something beautiful. Something... rich. ANd he had finally found it, after several weeks of searching high and low. A nice, beautiful black fabric, a little shimerring, thick and solid. That would do.

Once the fabric in his hands - implying only a broken pane of glass and one false alarm -, the hardest part had come : sewing it. First cutting, then making a mock-up, then trying it. Luckily, they were both more or less the same built, and it wouldn't need to be altered too much. Weeks and weeks of sewing, trying on, sewing again, and hiding it everytime Montparnasse came home. And finally, it was done : a nice, long coat with a large collar and shining buttons. Exactly what Montparnasse prefered, or so he hoped.

Claquesous wrapped his creation in an old newspaper, marched out of the room, and dumped the thing on Montparnasse's lap.

\- Happy birthday ! he announced.

Montparnasse looked at the thing, then at Claquesous like he suddenly turned into a fairy with shiny wings.

\- It's not my birthday, he said.

\- I know. You didn't tell me when it is.

\- Because I don't know. You know that.

Claquesous nodded.

\- So, he went on, I decided that today is your birthday. Here is your present.

Montparnasse glanced at the newspaper-wrapped thing, then at Claquesous, then at the thing again. He poked it, like he expected it to jump at his throat.

\- Is it some kind of joke ? he asked.

\- Open it, and you'll see.

\- That means yes. It's a joke.

\- It means "open it".

Montparnasse threw him a last suspicious glance, then turned his attention to the bundle on his lap. He started ripping the paper with the impatience of a child on Christmas morning, and Claquesous couldn't help but smile.

The paper finally fell on the ground. The black fabric was shining softly under the lamp. Montparnasse touched it slowly, caressed it. The golden buttons were sending small shards of light.

\- You... Gave me a coat ? Did you...?

Claquesous shook his head.

\- I don't steal presents. I made it.

\- You....?

Montparnasse stood up, unfolding the coat.

\- You made this ? he repeated.

\- Yes. Do you like it ?

Claquesous hated the uncertainity in his voice. But Montparnasse hadn't said yet that he liked it, and maybe he didn't ? Maybe he thought it was ridiculous ? Maybe he would have wanted gold and jewels ? He certainly claimed he deserved it. He should have...

\- Are you kidding ? Montparnasse answered, holding the coat tight. I love it !

\- I added some pockets inside, Claquesous explained, relieved. You can hide your knives and all your tools in there.

Montparnasse draped the coat on his shoulders, and ran to the large mirror at the end of the room to watch himself.

\- And, Claquesous added, to celebrate, what do you think of eating out in a nice restaurant, for a change ? My treat.

\- You know how to talk to me. Do I get to wear my new coat there ?

\- You get to wear anything, you know it.

\- My dear Gabriel, you really know how to talk to me.


End file.
